


Cream

by starhawk2005



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Het, Smut, Whipped Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean visits Cameron after the completion of his latest hunt, which didn’t go well.  You could consider this a future!fic set in the same universe as ‘A Welcome Distraction’, if you’d like, but that’s not mandatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cream

It must’ve been a difficult hunt this time, Allison realizes, when she opens the door and sees Dean standing there with bloody claw-marks across his forehead and bloodstains all over his clothes.

“Oh God, Dean,” she says as she takes his arm and draws him into her apartment, before anyone can see him. Bloodied men knocking at her door will surely get her gossipy neighbours in a tizzy.

He lets her lead him into the kitchen. “I’ll live,” he says, his tone flat and lifeless, and that increases Allison’s unease. He’s usually fairly _happy_ after a hunt, smug and pleased with his success, no matter how banged-up he gets in the process. If he’s _this_ down, it must mean the thing got away. “Dean? What happened?” She pushes him gently into a chair, and puts a hand on his cheek.

“Sam and I offed the thing,” he says, dull hazel eyes looking up into hers. “ _Two_ things, actually. Two poltergeists in the same house, if you can believe it. But not before they killed a four-year old boy, throwing him around the room like a tennis ball they were playing with.”

Allison knows how he feels. But he’ll probably stop talking if she says anything, so she just hugs him, and waits until he continues.

“We couldn’t do a damned thing about it, either,” Dean finally goes on. “I was pinned under a couch – a fucking _couch_ – and they were holding the doors shut so Sam couldn’t come in and rock-salt their pansy-asses.”

When he says nothing more, Allison squeezes him a bit tighter and tries to offer comfort. “It’s not your fault. You and Sam did your best,” she reminds him. She searches for a way to ease his guilt and pain. “It happens sometimes,” she whispers. “You try to save lives, but you can’t save them all. It happens with _me_ and the Diagnostic team now and then, and it’s going to happen in your line of work. The ‘natural’, the ‘supernatural’, it doesn’t matter; there’s always going to be casualties.”

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Doesn’t mean I have to _like_ it,” he mumbles.

“You think _I_ do?” she asks, deliberate sharpness in her tone. It has the desired effect – Dean’s eyes snap open and he looks at her again. Brings himself back from the darkness inside himself.

“No, of course not, Al. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Good,” she says crisply. “Now stop beating yourself up – the poltergeists already did a marvelous job of that – and let’s get your shirt off.”

She gets a ghost of a smirk from him. Progress. “Yes, doctor,” he says, obeying her.

Allison carefully examines each of his wounds. Other than the forehead scratches, which are messy but not all that deep, there’s lots of bruises and abrasions on his arms and chest, and several cuts on his left shoulder. Two or three of those are deep enough to require stitches, but she knows by now that he won’t agree to going to PPTH. So she just dabs Xylocaine liberally into and around the wounds in question and does the job herself.

“Careful, Al. Try not to spoil my good looks _too_ much,” Dean jokes. He’s obviously feeling better, and that makes her feel better, too. “I’ve got to be pretty enough to keep your interest, after all.”

She snorts and cleans up the medical detritus. “Next you’ll be complaining that you ‘broke a nail’ on a hunt,” she comments with mock disdain.

“Why, you little-“ Dean moves so goddamned _fast_ when he wants to. In seconds, she finds herself seated on the kitchen table, and he’s kissing her enthusiastically. Yes, he _must_ be feeling better, if he’s jumping to their post-hunt sexual encounter so soon after medical treatment.

Dean kisses her deep and hard, tongue slipping all over. She digs her nails lightly into his bare back, shivering with the pleasure. She loves it when he gets all passionate and forceful like this.

He breaks the kiss and presses that sinful mouth to her throat instead. “I’m _all_ man, baby. Trust me,” he growls, the words muffled against her throat.

Grinning, she reaches down and cups him through his jeans. “I never had any doubts, Dean,” she laughs, squeezing him gently.

He groans and shoves his hips violently forward into her hand, the warm bulge filling her palm, and then moves his mouth to her collarbone, lightly biting.

That’s when his stomach gurgles loud enough that they break apart, Allison giggling and Dean rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Sorry. We drove straight back here,” he said. “Didn’t even stop for a burger. D’you mind, Al?” She shakes her head, so Dean crosses the room and proceeds to raid her fridge.

“Why the hurry to get back?” she asks, curious.

He glances back at her over his bandaged shoulder. “Didn’t want blood gettin’ all over the inside of my baby.”

It’s Allison’s turn to perform an eyeroll. “Your car upholstery is more important than your injuries?” He’s taking awhile, so she admires the smooth, muscled planes of his back and the tight curve of his ass in those jeans.

“Hell, yes,” Dean said, but his tone is absent-minded, like his mind is on other things. When he looks back at her again, he’s smirking. “Take your clothes off.”

It takes her by surprise. “What? Here?”

“Yep,” he says. “I’m going to kill two birds with one stone. Efficiency is key, my Dad’s always sayin’.”

Allison has no idea what he’s up to, but she’s intrigued enough to start unbuttoning her shirt anyway. She’s always up for adding another naughty sex-game to their repertoire.

“Everything?” she asks, pausing when she’s naked to the waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “And turn around. Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

She rolls her eyes again, but does as he says. She turns and strips off the last of her clothes, listening to the sounds Dean’s making. Sounds like he’s chopping something up on the cutting board. There’s also a few other noises. Clunks, like bottles being moved and put down. What the heck is he up to?

“Good,” he says from behind her. More noise as he puts whatever he’s carrying on the other end of the table. “Now, sit right there on the edge of the table… Good. And now I want you to lie down.”

The table is wooden, cool and smooth, and she shivers a little. She looks up and back, trying to see what he’s doing, but she can’t see well enough to figure out what he’s up to.

“Now try not to move,” he instructs. He reaches over her, placing something cool right between her breasts. She glances down to see what it is.

A couple of banana slices.

“You’re going to use me as a _plate_? Kinky,” she laughs.

“You could say that,” Dean says agreeably, piling more bananas over the first pile. “More fun to _wash_ , afterwards,” he adds, licking his lips suggestively. It makes her want to squirm, imagining that tongue getting reacquainted with her skin.

He reaches back again, now producing a can of whipped cream. He proceeds to squirt a generous amount over the pile of fruit, and then, smirking wickedly, dresses each nipple in a little peak of sweet cream.

She can’t stop giggling. It’s silly and arousing at the same time. But he’s not done. Another bottle appears in Dean’s hand, and then he’s drizzling chocolate syrup over all three piles of cream.

“And now,” Dean finally says with a flourish, doing what he probably thinks is a decent approximation of a French chef’s accent, “mademoiselle, we finish the dessert with a cherry.” True to his word, three maraschino cherries soon adorn his three creations.

Allison snorts. “What’s with you men and eating food off of women’s bodies?” she shakes her head.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You mean, you’ve done this before?”

“Yes. My late husband liked to…how shall I put it? Make ice cream sundaes over….certain regions of my anatomy.” Funny how she’s still shy about saying some things in front of Dean.

“I never knew that about you,” Dean says. “Y’learn something new every day, don’t you?” he muses. He leans down and licks a stray bit of whipped cream from the side of her breast.

The contact tickles a little and Allison can’t help wriggling. “I remember it made a big mess,” she comments.

“Don’t worry, I’ll _clean_ you off real well,” he counters, smirking. He climbs up on the table and kneels, straddling her torso, and starts digging into the fruit and cream piled between her breasts.

It’s more funny than arousing, although it’s kind of fun when Dean leans up to kiss her and he’s got a mouthful of whipped cream and chocolate to share with her. Or when he offers her a few slices of banana...with his mouth.

But then the fruit is gone, and he’s licking her bare skin, raising goosebumps. “Mmmm, that feels good, honey,” she purrs.

“I’m just gettin’ started, baby,” he says. To illustrate his statement, he devours the cherry capping her left nipple, and then proceeds to suck all the cream into his hungry mouth.

When the cream is all gone, he starts sucking on her instead, and Allison arches her back, pressing herself upwards into his insistent mouth. She wants to clutch at his shoulders, but remembers at the last moment the fresh bandages, so she settles for gripping onto his biceps instead, enjoying the flex and shift of toned muscle under her fingers.

He cleans her off again with broad strokes of his tongue, and then he’s licking the cream off her other nipple. He shares the mouthful with her, ending the exchange by exploring her mouth with a leisurely tongue, and then he’s making good again on his promise to ‘clean’ her.

When he’s done and her chest is shiny clean, he gets that naughty look on his face that she knows all too well by now.

When he grabs the fruit and the bottles and climbs carefully off the table, she’s not surprised at all when he hooks a chair over with his ankle and sits down on it. Right between her legs.

She sits up on her elbows, looking down at him. “Still hungry, are we?”

“Well,” Dean quips. “Can’t have a banana split without the…ummm… _split_ ,” he says, eyeing her exposed sex.

She laughs. “Gee, that’s crude, Dean.”

“But accurate,” he points out, starting to place the fruit. She gasps as something brushes against her clit, her hips jerking. “Hey, stop that!” he complains, “You’re wrecking the placement of my banana!”

Allison manages to restrain a rather crude remark of her own about Dean’s ‘banana’, trying instead to hold still while he piles the fruit on. He’ll get down to business faster if she just accommodates him. Next is the cream, cool and soft. The chocolate syrup, which she can feel him drizzling everywhere, including the inside of her thighs. Finally he drops a few cherries onto his ‘dessert’.

“Voila!” Dean says, smirking and sitting back to admire his creation.

Allison rolls her eyes once more. She’s getting _very_ impatient to feel that talented tongue inside her. “Less talking, more eating,” she suggests.

Dean’s not done teasing her, though. “Ooops, I missed,” he says, obviously lying, as his tongue finds the little chocolate trails left on the inside of her thighs and laps them up slowly. “Plate presentation is very important,” he explains, pretending seriousness.

“I am _never_ watching cooking shows on PBS on Saturdays with you again,” she growls at him, trying not to squirm. Trust Dean to tease her by taking his time to ‘fix’ anything that falls off of her.

“Awwww, baby,” Dean mock-whines. “But then I’d get less inspiration to do things like _this_ -“Just like that, his tongue is on her, lapping greedily. Alternately consuming whipped cream, and consuming _her_ cream, of which she has collected quite a bit, after the earlier teasing.

He still takes his time, now holding her hips down. He laps up chocolate and cherries and cream, then runs his tongue along her folds, searching for any stray sweetness. He nibbles on banana slices, then brushes careful teeth against her skin, oh so gently nipping.

“Oh God, Dean,” Allison says, her hands reaching down and curling over his.

“Mmmm,” he says, low and soft. “Tastes so _good_ , Al.” One of his hands slips out of her grip, sliding down, down. Two fingers find the entrance to her body, tracing gently around the opening for a few moments while he devours the last of the cream and chocolate spread over her clit, and then he sinks into her. All while starting to suck on her, tongue playing with only the very tip of her sensitive little organ.

It feels just _too_ good, it’s been weeks since she’s had Dean here to satisfy the itch between her legs. So she just goes with it, gives in to it, allowing the orgasm to crest and wash over her, groaning and quivering and calling out Dean’s name.

He slides his fingers out of her, popping them immediately into his mouth.

“ _Still_ hungry?” she asks, panting and smiling down at him. He’s got whipped cream smeared on his chin, his nose.

“Baby, you have no idea,” he throws a meaningful glance in the direction of the bedroom.

“Well, then I guess we’d better _feed_ you some more,” Allison says with a smirk of her own. She sits up, wrapping her hands around the back of his head and pulling his face close, licking the whipped cream – and her own ‘version’, too – off. When she’s done, she kisses him, their tongues fighting a brief, friendly battle.

“Take me to bed, Dean Winchester,” she says huskily when they move apart.

“Gladly,” he says, and lifts her effortlessly off the table. She wraps her legs around his hips and her arms – carefully – around his shoulders, and lets him carry her into the bedroom. He pauses at the door so she can hit the light switch, then moves to deposit her gently on the bed.

Allison unzips his jeans and reaches in, her fingers finding him rampant and ready. She leans forward, fully prepared to do a little ‘taste testing’ of her own.

“No,” he growls, surprising her. “Forgive me for being blunt, Al, but I have to fuck you. Right _now_.”

Fine by her. She smiles up at him and lies back on the bed, spreading her thighs wide in wordless invitation.

Dean gulps almost visibly, then practically rips his jeans and briefs getting them off, before digging in the top drawer for their condom supply. “Oooh, ‘Rough Riders’, those are new since last time.”

“You’re not the only one who likes to try new things in the bedroom, Dean,” she purrs.

“And thank God for that,” Dean agrees, tearing the packet open and putting the condom on. “Oooh, studded,” he says, running his fingertips over the latex. “Nice. ‘Studs for the stud?’” he asks, flexing his right arm like he’s in some kind of body-building competition.

“I thought someone was dying for a ‘ride’,” Allison reminds him.

“Sorry, I’m a little ‘ADHD’ today,” Dean says with a wink. He walks over, bracing his knees against the side of the mattress, and cups his hands under her buttocks, and she reaches down to guide him inside.

The friction, the warmth, the sensation of him stretching her is exquisite. He’s slow at first, but not for long, moving in quick thrusts inside of her. She urges him on with little cries and gasps of pleasure, watching his face as he gives in and releases all the tension, pulsing sensuously inside her body.

He slumps over, holding himself up with one hand, watching with great interest as Allison finishes what he started, getting herself off with a few quick rubs against her clit. He’s still inside her, still hard, when she comes, and she watches him close his eyes, knowing he’s savouring the sensation of her climaxing around him, as much as she enjoys feeling him inside her as she goes over the edge...

Dean swaggers to the bathroom to clean himself off, but Allison discovers she’s still fairly sticky from their earlier ‘dessert’ fun. So she joins him in the bathroom, dragging him into the shower with her.

There’s some plastic sheets that she keeps handy for just such a situation (they’ve dealt with this scenario before), so once his bandages are wrapped and protected she turns on the water. Luckily their activities didn’t seem to cause any excess bleeding, even from the stitched wounds. Not that Dean’s ever heeded her warnings about that sort of thing anyways.

She washes Dean’s hair for him, amused by the ecstatic expression on his face as she massages his scalp with soapy fingers.

But his expression has darkened again by the time they’re both clean and drying off in the bedroom.

His expression is faraway and downcast, and Allison knows he’s beating himself up about the hunt again.

“Dean,” she says, waiting until she has his full attention. “ _Stop_. If you let things like this get to you, eat away at you…isn’t that letting the evil _win_? Even if you managed to kill it?”

He looks steadily at her for a long moment, then closes his eyes, nodding slowly. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just…” He lets the end of the sentence trail off.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Dean. You did your best. That’s all anyone could ask of you. That’s all you could ask of _yourself_.”

His eyes open and he smiles at her, coming over to wrap strong arms around her. “Pretty and smart, _and_ inventive in the bedroom,” he comments. “Now I know why I keep you around.”

“While you’re inventive in the kitchen, too. Guess that’s why I keep _you_ around,” she jokes, poking him gently in the ribs. “Now, let’s go out and get ourselves a real meal. So you’ll have enough energy for ‘Round Two’.”

“Only ‘Round Two’? No Three, or _Four_?” he asks, looking distinctly disappointed.

Allison just laughs and tosses him his jeans.

 


End file.
